


and history books forgot about us

by sagexbrush



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Memory Loss, Sad, literally found this and decided to post it, post gansey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 14:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6473113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagexbrush/pseuds/sagexbrush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She tries to talk, but her tongue feels thick and heavy, and all that comes out is a decimated whisper. She doesn’t even know what to ask. Her head is relatively empty, everything about her drained away, except – kiss me blue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and history books forgot about us

**Author's Note:**

> I found this three months after I wrote it and liked it enough to post it so here we are

****

 

 _“kiss me blue”_ the words are a murmured whisper from her consciousness, a fragment of some shattered past. She tries to reach out to it, to wrap her hands around it and hold onto it, but it stays carefully out of her reach, just that whisper ringing through her head like bells.

_kiss me blue._

**_two._ **

****

When she wakes up, she doesn’t have any other words on her lips but those, _kiss me blue_ sounding much more fragile and delicate in the emptiness of her head.

            “Blue?” a shaky whisper shakes her from the whisper, and her eyes move to watch as a woman with sharp eyes and a tired face lets out a shaky sob, her hand moving out to stroke through her hair.

            She tries to talk, but her tongue feels thick and heavy, and all that comes out is a decimated whisper. She doesn’t even know what to ask. Her head is relatively empty, everything about her drained away, except – _kiss me blue._

The woman smiles gently at her, “You’re okay now,” she promises, and she finds that even though she’s just woken up, her eyes are really heavy and she wants to sleep some more.

            Her eyes drift shut once more, the woman watching her as she went.

 

**_three._ **

****

When she next wakes up, the room is quite crowded, stuffed full with three boys and two women, hovering around her bedside like bees (for whatever reason, the mention of the insect puts a sharp distaste into her mouth) and she’s their flower.

            “Where am I?” she finally manages to croak, her voice unused and rough. Her hands twitch. Her mind is empty except for one sentence. _kiss me blue._

            “You’re in the hospital,” says an elegant looking boy, stepping closer to the bed. Something about him seems fragile, and she notes that they all have tired shadows under their eyes – they seem achingly familiar, like shadows from a dream.

            “Who are you?” she whispers, her eyes darting around to all of them, shrinking back against her pillows, her hands curling into fists.

            Her words do not have the same affect as the previous question. Everyone seems startled, taking a step or two back from the bed, except for a scary looking boy with burning eyes that pierce her.

            “The doctor said she might have temporary amnesia,” the woman whispers to the boys, “I’m sure it will go away in a bit.”

            She finds her voice this time, strong and reformed, “ _Who are you?_ ”

            None of them look like they could match the only voice she knew. One of the boys, a faded pale smudgy thing, slowly seems to be fading away (she wonders if that’s normal).

            “I’m your Mom,” the woman says, “Maura. And this is – “

            “Adam,” Elegant boy says, “and Ronan,” he jabs an elbow into the boy with burning eyes’ side, but he just looks stonily at her. The other boy has faded away.

            “Why am I here?” she asks next.

            “You had an accident,” Maura says quietly, “but don’t worry, your memories should come back soon.”

****

**_four._ **

            They don’t come back by the time she leaves the hospital.

           

**_five._ **

****

She feels that she pales in comparison to the craziness of her bedroom, and leaves Maura at the door, sitting down in her bed, curling her legs up to her chest and staring around at the walls blankly.

            They’re covered with an assortment of things, and Maura leaves with a mumbled _‘let you adjust’._

            Blue (or at least that’s what they’ve told her what her name is) thinks Maura is disappointed about her lack of memories. It makes her feel guilty, a sort of permanent sinking feeling – a desperation to remember.

            She felt the same way whenever she saw Adam. Ronan hadn’t been back to visit since the first day.

            She lies back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling and wondering what it had been like for the _real_ Blue to lie in this bed every night, without the emptiness in her head and the hollow feeling in her heart.

            She glances to the bedside table and sees, with her pulse quickening, a journal. Her fingers reach out and grab it before she can stop herself.

            It’s nearly bursting free of it’s binding, the pages so cluttered, and she finally manages to clumsily get it open, the book falling open to the middle.

            It’s filled with facts and stories and legends and maps – and notes in a special kind of handwriting that makes her toes curl.

            She shuts the journal.

****

**_six._ **

****

It does not take her long to realize that the real Blue hadn’t been living with her mother in a while. They had given her an age - _twenty four_ \- she assumes that’s a good age to be out of the house.

            Everything but the journal in her room had a fine layer of dust over it, like it hadn’t been touched.

            She cleans the dust in a day, mopping it up and wondering why everything’s still here. She would have expected the real Blue to have taken some of her thing’s with her.

            Except for the journal of course. She doesn’t look through it’s pages – but she does keep it on the nightstand. It has some odd sort of importance, but she can’t tell _what_ is is.

            So she keeps it.

****

**_seven._ **

****

“Maybe if we tell her about him – “ Calla (at least she thinks it’s Calla) sounds absolutely done with Mara. Blue hovers outside the door, waiting for her response.

            “And what do you think that’s going to help with?” Maura snaps, rejecting Calla’s idea immediately, like she was a flytrap.

            “Maybe he’s the key to her – “

            “That will do nothing but _break_ her.” a pause. “I’m sorry. I just wish we could see what was going to happen but - “

            “We can’t,” Calla finishes, “but I wish we could.”

            They have explained the family’s true nature to Blue, but she doesn’t understand why they can’t see into her future like anyone else’s. Shouldn’t her’s be a blank page – she was _family_.

            _he_

She gently presses her fingers to her lips. _kiss me blue._

She retreats into her room, gets on the bed, curling up in a ball. She hasn’t told the others about the words permanently engraved into her consciousness.

            She reaches over and plucks the notebook off the nightstand, holding it to her chest like a safety blanket.

            She wonders whom they’re talking about.

****

**_eight._ **

****

She finds a dry, crumpled mint leaf under her pillow.

            It makes her sad for whatever reason, the words _kiss me blue_ twirling through her head like ballet dancers.

 

**_ten._ **

****

She sneaks out into the yard for the first time since arriving back at home (or whatever this place was) everyone seemed keen on keeping her in the house like a caged animal, finding something to do every time she asked for a bit of fresh air – _oh but Blue, I need your help cleaning this – I need your help in this reading – oh Blue –_

The air is warm and moist, and she stretches her face to the sky, the air whisping around her hair and catching it in the wind.

            “Hi.”

            The voice startles her; she jumps about in the foot in the air before turning an accusatory stare on the person doing the startling.

            It was the boy from the first day in the hospital room, the one who had faded away ( _ghost_ she remembers) – _Noah_. She hadn’t seen him.

            “Hello,” she responds, and he steps forward and strokes her hair. She wonders if this is normal ghost behavior.

            “Do you remember anything yet?” he asks, his voice sad and his eyes big. The way he’s looking at her makes her ache more than anything else, and she only shakes her head, not thinking that she can lie as easily to him as she can to the other’s. _kiss me blue._

“Were we friends?” she inquires.

            “Didn’t Adam tell you?” Noah asks, and she shakes her head.

            “Adam is scared of me,” she admits quietly, “but you’re not scared of too much – are you?”

            “Can’t be scared of too much when you’re dead,” he says glumly, “that’s what Ronan says anyways.”

            “Ronan’s the scary one?” she clarifies, and Noah nods.

            “We were friends,” he answers her earlier question quietly, and she nods, biting her lip.

            “You, me, Ronan and Adam?” she asks, but something seems wrong about that statement – something _missing_. Noah seems to hesitate, and then he nods again.

            _liar._

She turns back up to the stars, and something strains at her memory, a scent – a wafting of mint and the feeling of his lips on her cheeks.

            “ _Are_ you afraid of me?” she finally asks, Noah’s looking at her like she’s an explosive.

            “Kind of,” he admits, “but don’t tell Ronan.”

            “Ronan doesn’t visit,” Blue says, and Noah gives a sad little shrug.

            “Ronan remembers you,” he offers helpfully, and then fades into the night – like she was getting too close to prodding a sensitive issue.

            “Blue?” Maura calls from inside the house, her voice frantic, “Blue are you there?”

            “Coming!” Blue chants back, but her thumb is smoothing over her lower lip. _kiss me blue._

**_eleven._ **

****

It’s been a month after she’s returned home, and she decides to sneak out for real.

            She doesn’t know exactly what she’s looking for – what she really _desires_ – but all she knows is that the house has become cramped, and everyone still looks at her like she’s made of glass – and she still is no closer to finding out who she is.

            She supposes things could be made simpler if she asked them who had said _kiss me blue –_ but it almost seems like a personal moment. She isn’t ready to ask others, but instead wants to keep it close to her heart, warm and protected where no one could harm it.

            She first tells Maura that she’s taking a nap and _please don’t wake her_ (she’d added _for anything_ to clarify) and then had taken a bag she’d found in a closet, put the journal inside, and bundled up in a coat just to be safe – then snuck out of the house when no one was looking.

            The streets of Henrietta were virtually absent, the occasional car roaring past her, and she didn’t really know where she was going. She let her feet carry her where she wanted, maybe a deeper part of her mind guiding her through the dark.

            She doesn’t know how long she walks for, and is well aware that people will probably start looking for her before she makes it back (this wasn’t the most well thought out plan) but at the same time she doesn’t _care_. She wants to get out, to following the aching in her chest and -

            She stops at the sight of an old factory building, something in her feet urging her forward.

 

**_twelve._ **

            It’s just as dusty as her room was.

            It’s obvious someone once lived here, and evidentially forgot to lock the door before they left – and she steps inside, her footsteps echoing in the vast space.

            Books, maps, a messed bed, dead mint plants, a tiny little toy town –

            _i wish you could be kissed, jane. because i would beg just one off you. under all this._

            The words rise out from a darker part of her mind, and she falls to her knees, the sound echoing loudly in the space – Monmouth Manufacturing, she remembers with a slight pause. She waits for any more memories – any clarifying, sensible things – but none come.

            “My name isn’t Jane,” she says to the silence, her voice echoing.

            She slumps back against the floor, not really caring about dust – tears filling her eyes for reasons she didn’t know and wasn’t sure if she wanted to know – _it’s not jane._

The name Jane seems to fit her more than Blue did.

 

**_thirteen._ **

****

She lies there for hours, until someone else enters the building.

            “You shouldn’t be here,” a hard voice says, and someone grabs her by the back of her jacket and yanks her to her feet. She looks up to see Ronan, a frown slouching the corners of his mouth down.

            “Who lived here?” she asks.

            “You’re not Blue, are you?” he bites, “Blue wouldn’t ever do something so fucking _stupid_.”

            He firmly guides her to the door, his hand still clutched in the back of her jacket.

            “Answer my question,” Blue demands, her voice steady.

            “I lived here,” he says, and when she exits the building, she finds that Adam’s also there, looking worried.

            “Adam,” she says, “Who lived here?”

            It’s pulling at the edges of her memory, a vague scent, a pair of words, the name Jane.

            Adam’s hesitant, and then, “Just someone who you used to know,” he offers her a half smile that she doesn’t return.

            _what are they keeping from me?_

Ronan shoulders her into the car and she looks back at the building, vowing to return. _Surely_ there were clues – if no one else wanted to tell her.

           

**_fourteen._ **

 

            Maura yells at her when she gets home, “I WAS SO WORRIED ABOUT YOU!” she hollers, but Blue doesn’t feel bad.

 

**_fifteen._ **

****

She asks Maura for permission next.

            Maura says no, even though it’s almost formed in the shape of a question -

            (Blue hears yes.)

 

**_sixteen._ **

****

This time, she leaves a note, so everyone wouldn’t panic.

            They still would probably panic. (She didn’t really care.)

            The door is still unlocked, and it takes her a while to find a way to light up the place, but when she does, she has to admit that it looks lonelier at night. More abandoned.

            She squares her shoulders. She’s going to find out who lived here.

            She decides to start at the desk, opening a drawer. An epipen rattles in the drawer, looking old – she shuts the drawer. She opens another one, and finds some history homework. Pulling it out, she looks at the name at the top.

            _Richard Gansey III._

She wonders why someone would put the III on a homework assignment.

            The name sparks something in her however, a sort of painful recollection, and she traces her finger over the name once more, before stuffing it in her bag.

            “Richard Gansey the third,” she tests the name out on her lips, “Richard and Jane. Dick and Jane. Gansey and Jane. Gansey and Blue – “

            _it’s okay._

Her fingers begin to shake, and she stumbles over to the bed before sinking down onto the dusty covers. It smells like something familiar, faded and nearly gone, but she sinks back into it, pressing her face against the pillow.

            She decides to sleep here tonight, despite the trouble it may cause.

 

**_seventeen._ **

****

When she wakes up, Maura is sitting at the end of the bed, a sad look on her face.

            Blue sits up, something like guilt threading through her gut. _(Don’t feel guilty. You’ve done nothing wrong.)_

            “Who is Gansey?” she demands, wondering why she doesn’t use his full name when referring to him.

            Maura sighs, “You spent the better part of a year here,” she says instead, a little sadly, looking around at the space.

            “Where is he?” Blue asks, her eyes wider, “Where’s Gansey?”

            She’s certain that if she can find him, she could get her memories back. He’s the only fragment she has left to hold on to, especially because everyone else seemed intent on _keeping_ everything from her –

            “Blue – “

            “Where is he?” she repeats, her voice stronger, “I think I need to see him – I think it’ll help somehow – with my memories – “

            “And why’s that?”

            “Because it will,” she says crossly, folding her arms across her chest.

            “Gansey’s gone,” her mother says firmly, “and he’s not coming back. We’ll figure out your memories Blue, don’t worry.”

****

**_eighteen._ **

****

She asks if someone will buy her a mint tree.

            Adam brings one over.

            She likes chewing on the leaves.

 

**_nineteen._ **

****

**** _“it’s okay blue,” he whispers, “it’s okay.”_

Blue wakes up screaming his name.

****

**_twenty._ **

****

“Tell her Maura, or I swear to god I will,” Calla sounds especially fired up today, and Blue likes the sound of it.

            _tell her what?_

**_twenty-one_ **

****

It’s been two months after her ‘accident’ (whatever the hell that means, no one will still tell her what happened) and she meets Noah outside her house, she’s been allowed to go outside. Not to Monmouth Manufacturing.

            “Can Gansey ever come back?” she asks him, and he stares at her with big wide eyes.

            “Why are you asking about Gansey?” he asks, and his voice gives it away. He knows what she wants. He knows what she means.

            “I think he’s the only one who can help me,” she answers, “bring back my memories I mean.”

            “Why?” Noah doesn’t look hurt, but merely sad.

            “Because I – I don’t know,” her hands wheel around her head, “I feel like he’s the only one who could possibly bring them back!”

            “I don’t think he could,” Noah says quietly.

            “Why does everyone keep saying that?” Blue demands, “Did this Gansey person do something horrible?”

            “No,” Noah says too quickly, “he was the greatest friend anyone could have.” It’s very defensive, like the idea of her insulting Gansey was unthinkable.

            “Then where is he?” Blue demands angrily, but Noah merely fades away.

 

**_twenty-two_ **

****

She finds Ronan’s number scrawled on an old piece of paper in her room, the words _jackass_ scrawled underneath in her own handwriting. Mr. Burning Eyes.

            She uses the phone when no one’s looking (and that’s saying something because her cousin Orla is _always_ on the phone for whatever reason) and shakily types in those numbers.

            He answers at the last second.

            “Hello?” he asks gruffly.

            “It’s Blue,” she answers quietly, wondering why she was doing this at all, wondering why he was the one she was convinced would help her.

            “What do you want?”

            “I want you to distract me,” she says, even though she isn’t entirely sure what that means, and she doesn’t know if Ronan knows either.

            “I’ll be there in ten.”

            She tells Maura where she’s going, and surprisingly, the other woman agrees.

            Ronan pulls up in an expensive looking car, and it vaguely reminds her of another time, another place, another person, and she almost wants to punch something in frustration.

            “Get in,” he barks.

            “Where are we going?” she asks, and he just jerks his head.

            She doesn’t ask anymore questions.

 

**_twenty-three_ **

****

“You want to ask me about Gansey don’t you?” he asks, when he stops. She isn’t sure where they are, some expensive looking farmhouse up in the mountains.

            “You don’t seem like someone who would give me a bullshit answer,” Blue says.

            “But we’re going to have to get drunk first,” he decides, “because I don’t think I can talk otherwise.”

            She doesn’t question his methods (he hadn’t questioned her’s.)

 

**_twenty-four_ **

****

“So you and Adam are a thing?” she slurs, the alcohol making her thoughts sluggish.

            “We’ve been dating for like _years_ ,” Ronan says, and he doesn’t sound as drunk but she still thinks he probably is a little.

            “That’s fun,” she giggles, and then, “did I have any boyfriends?”

            Ronan glances over at her, his dark burning eyes suddenly seeming infinitely darker.

            “I thought you wanted to talk about Gansey.”

            “I do,” she says, “I do, I do, I do.”

            “Even if it hurts?”

            “Even,” she agrees, shutting her eyes, but it’s not preparing her for Ronan’s next words.

            “He’s dead.”

            Her eyes fly open, and she lets out a choking sound.

            “What – “

            “He’s been dead since we were seventeen years old,” he says, a biting edge to his voice, “he’s not going to be any help to you.”

            She thinks he’s being cruel.

            Maybe she was being cruel too, asking this question of everyone. _it’s been seven years,_ she realizes, _and here i am._

“Was he my boyfriend?” she asks, her question before seeming shallow, and maybe this one was to –

            “He was your true love,” Ronan answers, and it hurts more than she thought it would, “maybe it’s better if you don’t remember him.”

            Maybe it was.

            _kiss me blue._

She wonders if she was the one who killed him.

            (She decides she doesn’t want to know.)

****

**_twenty-five_ **

****

            A year later, she goes out to dinner with Adam. He brings her a box of pictures with a shy smile and a _maybe this will help._ She doesn’t tell him that she doesn’t want to remember anymore.

            She accepts the box, and for his entertainment mostly, she begins to flip through what was inside, through pictures of her as a little girl, to Adam, Ronan, smiling pictures of her with other people through the house –

            She comes across a last picture.

            It looks like Adam had maybe _accidentally_ added it in, or maybe it had been a last minute decision – and she stops.

            The boy in the picture is young – too young - a smile on his face, and his arm around Adam’s, wearing a stupid polo shirt, slacks, and boat shoes. In the background, a Camaro – and she knows at once who it was.

            _kiss me blue._

“Did you ever try?” she asks softly, and Adam looks at her, and then at the picture, alarm spreading through his face – it had been an accident then.

            “Try what?” he asks, cautious – maybe he thinks that she misread the picture.

            “To save him,” she says, her thumb moving over Gansey’s face.

            “We all did,” Adam finally says, “but some things are just meant to be.”

            Without meaning to, without trying, without wanting, a tear splashes down onto Gansey’s face.

            Maura had finally told her what had caused the accident. _A car crash,_ she said, but Blue thinks that maybe part of the old Blue had wanted to forget.

            Adam gets up to go to the bathroom, and she keeps looking at the picture.

            _I wish you could be kissed Jane._

“I remember you,” she whispers to the photograph, “I don’t remember everything – but I’ll remember you.”


End file.
